Alias
by LittleApril
Summary: Hidden away in the depths of SHIELD's underground operations, Liesl Schultz remained to be Pierce's greatest secret and Zola's finest experiment. Bucky/OC


**Alias by LittleApril**

_"Perhaps it's impossible to wear an identity without becoming what you pretend to be." ~ Orson Scott Card_

Hidden in the shadows, the blonde stalked forward toward the far arch of the Brandenburg Gate, her footsteps drowned out by the noise and fire of twenty-first century Berlin. Behind her, tourists and German natives snapped photographs and chatted animatedly, bulbs flashing and blinding, as the cloudless sky dulled to a slate blue. A crescent moon loitered above their heads, glittering white in the midst of a steel nightsky canvas. Beyond the arches, toward the junction of Unter den Linden and Eberstaße, vehicles sped along the German roads, leaving flashes of reds and whites in their wake. The air was cool and crisp, sharp winds biting at the woman's pale flesh beneath her dark, military jacket.

An hour passed.

The square, now alive with music and excited talk as thousands gathered toward the corner of Juni avenue, hosted a number of vantage points. Tucked away, hidden behind the cobblestone pedestrian zone, the woman watched the crowds and waited. Her gaze was made of steel, fixated not to the Reichstag building but to the United States Embassy in the distance. She watched, stare unwavering, and waited.

Another thirty minutes passed before the vibration of the cell phone tucked away inside her jacket pocket snatched her attention. Unblinking, the woman pressed the _answer call_ button and held the device to her ear, silent as she waited for further instruction.

_"Weber, what's your status?"_

The woman's German tongue was thick as she answered the question._ "Eyes on the target. He's leaving the building. Where's Barton?"_

A third voice joined the conversation, the man's succinct tone crackling down the line. _"To your left."_

Weber's eyes travelled along the rooftops, noting the black mass positioned against the gate's quadriga. _"He's left the building. Flanked by three guards. What's your call, Coulson?"_

_"Barton, are you following?"_

_"Right at them, Sir."_

_"Weber?"_ came Coulson's strict tone, his voice echoing down the line.

The blonde pushed herself away from the arch, forcing her way through the crowds to head toward the Embassy, her footsteps quick and light against the stone. Reaching into her left boot, the woman retrieved the Glock 22, popping the safety as she hurried toward the group of four businessmen. _"Barton?"_ she murmured, not bothering to glance back at the monumental chariot, vision fixed on the tall steep steps. "Thirty yards," she told them, still rushing forward, slinking past families and festivities. _"Twenty."_ She held the gun out in front of her, hands and arms steady, closing one eye as she levelled the weapon at the men. _"Ten. I'm in range." _

_"Coulson?"_

A second's pause. _"Bring him in."_

The shot revereberated around the town square - men, women and children screamining in terror as three of the bodies hit the ground with a deafening thud. Stalking foward, Weber levelled her gun at the remaining man's face, stare unmoving as the man shook his head.

_"You won't shoot me,"_ he gloated, thin lips curled in a snarl.

_"No," _agreed Weber, speaking not only to the man but to the microphone and ear-piece attached to her jacket, _"but he will." _And as she enunciated the last syllable, the man slumped to the ground, the trandquiliser dart plugged into his neck.

_"Coulson,"_ came Barton's voice. _"We got him."_

A large SUV screeched to a halt by the entrance of the foreign embassy, and six SHIELD agents jumped out, making quick work of the bodies. Giving one final nod to the men, Weber turned away as Coulson's words trickled into her ears.

_"Good work. The helicarrier will leave in two hours. Barton, how long till that dart wears off?"_

_"Jennison won't be lucid for at least fourteen hours."_

_"Weber?"_

The blonde had moved away from the historica landmark, heel-clad feet leading her back to her small, cramped flat above the local bakery. She ripped the earpiece from her right ear and let it fall to the floor, crushing it beneath her feet with the spool of her black patent heels. "Twenty minutes," she murmured to the microphone, wanting to say just one last goodbye to her home country, one goodbye to her most recent alias and story. Eliza Weber had drifted into nothingness - she'd never existed.

And for a moment, as she stared back at glittering lights of her city, Liesl Schultz remained.


End file.
